ZERO HERO (The Kate Huntington Mystery series) (11 page)

           
Shit!

            This strange emotion he was feeling was
fear
.

            He shook his head to dislodge the image. He flipped the paper over to the next page, the local news section, and stared at it without really seeing it.

            Had he lost his nerve? He was laid-back by nature. Mr. Unflappable, Dolph called him. In dangerous situations, there was a shot of adrenaline of course. It sharpened his senses, put him on full alert. But a calmness came over him that cleared his head, helped him think fast on his feet.

            It had saved his life more than once. But now... Could he trust it to be there the next time he needed it?

            He shook his head again. The picture in front of his face finally registered. It was an artist’s drawing. The guy looked familiar. He scanned the accompanying story. The face belonged to a floater, found in the Patapsco River near the Baltimore harbor on Saturday. The medical examiner believed he’d been in the water less than forty-eight hours, although the cold temperatures made it harder to judge time of death.

            The niggly feeling of familiarity was just beginning to bloom into full recognition when Skip’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket.

            “You see the picture in the local section?” Dolph said in his ear.

            “Yeah, just now. It’s Frederico’s guy in the suit.”

            “Son of a bitch. Wonder what the hell this means.”

            “Hell if I know.” Silence as they both contemplated this development. Then Skip said, “Are we getting too old to be chasing bad guys?”

            “What? Where’s that coming from?”

            Skip didn’t answer him. He wasn’t real sure where that had come from.

            “I’m pushin’ sixty,” Dolph said, “and I don’t feel like I’m too old yet. I do like being private though. We get to pick and choose which bad guys we chase.”

            “Then why are we chasing slimeball pimps and drug dealers?”

            Silence, then Dolph said, his tone matter-of-fact, “’Cause a young man who deserves better is getting the shaft.”

            Again, Skip didn’t answer him.

            “You want to pay Frederico another visit tomorrow?” Dolph said. “Would be interesting to find out how his man ended up in the river.”

            Skip was wrestling with himself. “I’ve got a concern.”

            “What’s that?”

            “Mac getting shot, it, uh...” No way could he admit to this man, who had stepped into the role of father figure, that he was afraid. “It’s got me more cautious.”

            A pause. “Caution’s a good thing. I think Mac’s shooting shook us all some.”

            “Uh, I’m concerned that I might be too cautious, maybe hesitate at the wrong moment.”

            “My advice is to get back up on that horse right away.”

            Skip’s head agreed with that idea. His stomach clenched at the thought. “Maybe you shouldn’t go, Dolph.”

            A longer pause. “Don’t be puttin’ your
concerns
on me, son.”

            “No, it’s not that. I know you can handle yourself. It’s... You matter to me. I don’t want my hesitating to put you in jeopardy.”

            Dolph cleared his throat. “You matter to me too, son. And I don’t think for a minute that you’re gonna freeze under pressure. You’ll be a little scareder than you’re used to, but you’ll do what you gotta do.”

            He wished he shared Dolph’s confidence in that. Apparently he wasn’t going to be allowed to back away from that damned horse. “Uh, thanks for listening. See you in the morning.”

            “Not a problem. See you tomorrow.”

~~~~~~~~

            Dave Samuelson stretched his long legs out in front of him and tried to get comfortable. The Sunday evening train was far from full and the seat across from him was vacant, giving him a little bit of breathing room. Dave hated small spaces.

            He was in a rare introspective mood, pondering where his life was going. He thought about his wife and the tow-headed toddler he’d bid farewell to just a little over an hour ago. Nell had said she’d miss him, but he knew she didn’t mean it. He’d seen the relief in her eyes.

            His marriage had been a career move. His employer expected it. Married men were more reliable, more stable when they had a family to provide for. But Dave didn’t really care what happened to his family. Maybe it would be different if he had a son. A boy he could raise to be like himself, to carry on his name.

            He snorted, drawing a mildly curious glance from the woman sitting across the aisle from him. Of course, the name the boy would carry wasn’t Dave’s real name. It had been so many years since he’d used his real name, he probably wouldn’t answer to it now.

            His mind shifted to his current assignment. He was to be a liaison of sorts with his employer’s new affiliate.

            His boss had informed him that a plan had been set in motion to resolve the problems this affiliate was experiencing. Dave’s job was to observe the situation and come up with a Plan B should Plan A not work. He was confident he could do the job. Reading people was one of his talents, and he liked a challenge.

            He hoped the assignment would last awhile. He was looking forward to the freedom of living anonymously in a hotel room. No doubt the affiliate would be willing to provide some entertainment.

            But tonight would be devoted to work, not play. He had some research to do.

~~~~~~~~

            By eleven-fifteen Monday morning, Skip and his men were in position inside Santiago’s café. After checking the place over to make sure they were the only ones there at that hour, Skip had intentionally taken the chair Frederico had occupied the previous Thursday. His instincts told him it was the right tactic. Claim the man’s territory to show he had the upper hand, and then willingly give it back to him.

            But Skip’s stomach was rebelling at the idea of being seated when his adversary came through that door.

            Dolph leaned against the wall a few feet away to his left. Another Canfield and Hernandez operative, Manuel Ortiz, stood three feet behind his chair. Manny wasn’t all that tall but he was built like a stone wall–thick chest, powerful biceps, muscular thighs.

            At eleven-fifty, Frederico and two of his men came through the door, laughing. Skip only caught a few words. Apparently one of them had just told a lewd joke.

            They froze when they saw they had company. Three more home boys spread out along the wall on either side of the door.

            Skip made himself stand up slowly. He bowed toward the chair he had just vacated with an it’s-all-yours gesture. Letting a bit of Texas creep into his voice, he said, “Good ta see y’all again,
señor
.”

            Frederico narrowed his eyes.

            Skip backed up until he was standing beside Manny. He faked a smile and gestured again to the chair.

            Frederico moved partway toward the table but didn’t sit down. “Wha’ ya doin’ here, man? I done answered yer dumb questions.”

            “Yes you did, but there have been some interesting developments since then.”

            Frederico just glared at him from several paces away.

            “First, your man shoots at us.” Skip was surprised his voice sounded so calm when his heart was pounding in his chest. “Then that man ends up floating in the Patapsco. So excuse me if I’m confused.”

            Frederico’s rigid posture relaxed slightly. “Now I don’t know how dat dumb fucker ended up in de harbor, but it weren’t no man of mine dat be shootin’ at ya.”

            A surge of anger had Skip closing the gap between them in two strides. Towering over the shorter man, his voice now had a hard edge. “Then why’s one of my men in the hospital, missing part of his kidney?”

            Frederico’s men had started to move forward, but a hand signal from him stopped them. He gave an elaborate shrug. “Look, man, I done took care of yer problem for ya.” His voice was impatient. “Now go away.”

            Skip took half a step back and digested that for a moment. So the big guy was the shooter, operating without Frederico’s say-so, and Freddie had killed him for it? Seemed a bit drastic just to enforce his authority.

            He considered probing some more but Freddie’s expression said he wouldn’t get an answer. “You only took care of one of my problems,
amigo
. Pete Jamieson’s still in jail for a crime he didn’t commit.”

            Frederico shrugged again. “Can’t help ya there.”

            Skip paused, then nodded slightly. He took another step back and then circled around the other man, without turning his back on him. Two steps from the door, Dolph and Manny in tow, he said, “You let me know if you hear anything ’bout that, ya hear?”

            One of Frederico’s men muttered to Manny, “
Oye chico. ¿Porqué estás con ellos?
”

            “I ain’t your
chico
,” Manny growled back.

            Frederico’s men stiffened. Both he and Skip made the same slight gesture with their hands. The homeboys backed away, their body language protesting. Skip shoved Manny out the door.

            Back in Skip’s truck, Dolph asked, “So how was the ride, son?”

            “Bumpy.”

            “It’ll smooth out.”

           
Hope so.
Skip willed the knots in his stomach to relax as he steered away from the curb.

~~~~~~~~

            Inside Santiago’s, the man behind the faded striped curtain in the kitchen doorway had a small smile on his face. His eyes, however, were calculating.

CHAPTER EIGHT

            With a packed schedule on Monday and a mad dash over to the hospital at lunchtime to check on Mac, Kate wasn’t able to get to the jail until after five.

            The guards dealt with her with the boredom of routine. When the door slammed shut, Pete’s face collapsed into a haunted look.

            Kate tried to keep the alarm from her voice and body language, partly because she knew the guards might be watching through the one-way mirror behind her. “What’s wrong?”

            “Bubba’s in the hospital. Some guy attacked me, on our way back to our cells after dinner last night.”

            Kate made herself take a moment to digest that. “What guy?”

            “Just some guy. He and I’d never exchanged a word. Makes no sense why he came at me like that.”

            “He came at you with what?” Kate asked.

            “A knife.”

            “How the hell’d he get a knife in jail?”

            “Good question,” Pete said. “It wasn’t some jury-rigged shiv either. It was a real knife. Bubba got cut up pretty bad before the guards got there to separate them.”

            There was guilt and worry in Pete’s tone but she decided to wait to address those. She had a much greater concern. “He came at you how? What started it?”

            “I was toward the end of the line, heading back to our cells. Guy was in front of me. He suddenly just turned around and shoved me. Yelled something like, ‘Get the hell off me.’ Then the knife came out. I deflected the blow, got cut some.” He rolled up his left sleeve to show her a gauze bandage. “Bubba grabbed the guy’s wrist and they started wrestling for the knife. Then the guy tried to claim I’d pulled the knife and he’d grabbed it away from me. Fortunately the guards believed Bubba and me over him.”

            “Holy crap,” Kate muttered under her breath, as she processed the implications.

            She jumped up and strode over to the one-way mirror. Rapping her knuckles against it, she yelled, “I need a phone. Now!”

            Pete’s mouth fell open.

            Nothing happened. She went to the metal door and banged on it.

            A few seconds later, the door opened and a guard stepped in. “You done?”

            “No! You have an inmate in the hospital who ended up there defending my client from a knife attack?”

            “Uh, yes, ma’am.”

            She was about to question why Rob hadn’t been called, and how the hell did the assailant get a knife, when she caught herself. Taking her anger out on the poor guard wouldn’t accomplish anything.

            “I need a phone to call my client’s lawyer. Now, please.”

            The
please
was pure form. Her tone said it was not a request. The guard opened his mouth. She narrowed her eyes at him.

            He closed his mouth without saying anything and left the room.

            Kate turned to Pete. “Are you able to handle solitary confinement, at least for a day or two?”

            “Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

            The door lock rattled and the metal door opened. The guard handed the portable phone in his hand to Kate.

            “Thank you.” Kate dialed Rob´s cell phone and filled him in as succinctly as she could.

            Rob got the implications even faster than she had. “Alleged killer dies in a jailhouse brawl. Case closed.”

            “Hell of a risk that guy was taking,” Kate said.

            “Probably worth it if he was getting paid well enough,” Rob said. “And with Pete dead, they might’ve believed the lie that the knife was Pete’s and he’d started it. Try to get the guards to let him stay there with you until I call back. Tell them I’m contacting the Director of Corrections.” He disconnected.

            “I don’t understand. What´s going on?” Pete asked.

            She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Rob and I think the knife attack was a hired hit. He’s calling the jail’s director now.”

            Pete’s eyes went wide.

            “I told you my husband was going to look into Jimmy’s murder,” Kate said. “Try to find out who really did it. Somehow he’s shaken something loose, we’re not sure what. He went downtown to talk to Jimmy’s competition, a guy named Frederico. Since then, uh, things have happened that seem to be aimed at discouraging Skip’s interest in your case.” Kate didn’t want to mention Mac getting shot. Pete would feel guilty about that as well.